


No place for hope (Abandonment Challenge)

by roguewrld



Series: SGA Flashfic Responses [1]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Gen, Post This Mortal Coil, not canon compliant after that
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-06-09
Updated: 2012-06-09
Packaged: 2017-11-07 09:03:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/429276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roguewrld/pseuds/roguewrld
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Western visitor comes to a small village school.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No place for hope (Abandonment Challenge)

The woman was Western, but she was sitting outside in the heat at midday and she wasn't vomiting from the smell of untreated sewage, so he came out into the courtyard to see her. She had a small paper fan, and sat in the dust beneath a withering tree. "Miss Weir?"

"Headmaster." She got up and brushed the dust from her pants. "Thank you for seeing me."

"Come inside. We have no air conditioning, but there is a fan at least." Her English is American, and Raj can't imagine what this woman in pale linen wants at his school. There are no rich children at this school, no one with hope or prospects. The only reason there was even a school here at all was because Mr. Gates and Mr. Bono had too much money.

He pulled out a chair for her. "What can I do for you?"

He tried to hide his surprise when she answered in crisp Hindi. "I've come looking for farm workers."

"There are no farmers in America?"

"No farmers who can drive oxen, or if there are, they have land of their own to plow. Your students are poor, and many are Untouchables. What life would they have here? I can give them land of their own, water security and food to eat." She folded her fan, and looked at him very seriously. "I can make them well."

It takes a moment for the English words to settle in and he answers in kind, thinking maybe all the Hindi she knew was that little speech. "Impossible. Some of these children are dying of AIDS."

She says it again, with such conviction he wishes he could believe her. "I can make them well."

"Where is this farm?"

"Far away. Three weeks by ship." She reached into her handbag and removed a packet of papers. On top was a photograph of undeveloped grassland, a small stream running through it. "Sustainable farming. Work. Education. Health care. You can come too." She stands, and he realizes she isn't sweating. Not at all. "I'll be back in three days, with my doctor. Please, think about this."

When the strange woman was gone, he booted up his aging laptop and searched for information on Elizabeth Weir. She'd worked for the United Nations as a negotiator and she'd lived for a year in India early in her career, doing… something. He wasn't sure. She was also dead.

Her picture was included with her obituary. The strange woman who did not sweat had died during peace talks in a war-torn African nation. He closed the computer, and looked outside at the children, all of them too thin, playing soccer in the dust. He reached over and picked up the packet of paper.


End file.
